Kira
by hysyu
Summary: A young man visits a sinister brothel for what he assumes would be a simple one night-romp - until a chance encounter with a newly-morphed Ninetales rapidly evolves into something more. Rated MA for sexual themes and occasional swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**This story involves Pokemorphs. And humans. It's rated MA. Connect the dots. If that kind of thing disturbs you, please turn away now.**

Rated MA for sexual themes and swearing. But allow me to say now that this isn't a porn story. Wait, lemme rephrase that. There's sex, but I try not to make it explicit or excessively detailed for the pervs lingering out there, because this story simply isn't meant to appeal to _that_ kind of crowd. It's supposed to be a simple romance, and if I feel sex is necessary to advance the plot I won't shy away from describing it. Think you can handle that? Great! Read on, and please R&R if you enjoy it.

...

**Kira**

**Chapter 1**

The motel was a seedy, dirty building, notorious for both the near-offensive décor it sported and the rumours of the singularly unsavoury dealings that supposedly occurred inside. Situated at the outskirts of the city where the maze of buildings met the long, endless road, it frequently elicited contemptuous snorts and fearful shudders from passing city folk and passing motorists alike. Backpackers seldom entered it. Policemen never did. It was an understanding that the sordid business it housed appreciated.

The night when Joe decided to pay another visit, it was pouring. Fighting the powerful winds that ripped at his trenchcoat, he climbed out of his car and stumbled through the parking lot. The lobby he entered was poorly lit, painted a grotesque shade of mauve, and sparse, with little in the way of furniture bar a couple of dusty armchairs and a counter. And behind that counter stood a familiar, ugly face.

"Hey, Joe."

"Hi, Grisby."

"Quiet night, huh?"

"Nah. We had a group of teenage punks in here a while ago. Didn't really like the looks of them, so I threw them out myself once they were done."

The receptionist grinned. He was an imposing, burly figure, about 6 feet 10, maybe 7, and with a toothy smile that showed off more gaps than teeth.

"So, how bout you? Been a while since you came here last."

"Work's been tough."

The customer sighed, then pulled off his trenchcoat and chucked in on a stool, leaving it to drip water on the concrete floor. He ran a handkerchief through his short brown hair.

"You need a drink first?"

A smoking gasoline lamp burned in the corner with a sickly green flame. Joe absentmindedly watched it flicker.

"Yeah. I think I do."

Grisby reached under the counter, fishing a can of beer from amongst the mess of crumpled papers and wrappers. With a deft flick of his thumb he popped it open. He handed it to Joe, who reached out a gloved hand and took it appreciatively.

"Thanks."

"Hey, no worries. Freebie to a loyal customer. You here for the usual, then?"

"Yeah. Bosses been giving me a whole load of shit. I need to blow off some steam. What's on the menu?"

Grisby snorted in amusement, a deep, nasal sound. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his grubby jeans.

"Let's see here," he started, reading down the list. "That Star'via chick you had last time's on duty tonight. I think there's a Mightyena girl in the room down the hall. Then there's also a Pika-girl, a Sneasel, and a couple of Eevee-lutions, but I think they'll need a bit of rest after what those punks did with them."

Joe shook his head.

"Look, Grisby, when I say my bosses have been giving me shit, I mean it. I've had those girls before, and they're pushovers. I want a morph with a bit of fight. A bit of a challenge, you know? One I can really _take_, if you get my drift."

The receptionist laughed. "Yeah, I get what you mean. Well, we've got a new arrival this week. Ninetales, I think. Fresh from the lab. Haven't seen much of her myself, but I hear she's a fighter. Ain't been broken yet."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically. "I ain't actually supposed to give anyone access to her for a couple of weeks. Adjustment period, y'know, SOP. But you're a loyal customer, so I'm sure I could make you a lil' exception this time. Sound good? Think ya up to it?"

Joe sucked the last few drops of beer from the can, then chucked it over his shoulder and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The alcohol sat contentedly in his stomach, and he appreciated its comfortable warmth. "How much?"

The big, ugly man smirked. "You tell me once you're done."

...

Grisby led Joe up a flight of stairs. They emerged in a dark, musty corridor, which the duo promptly covered before stopping in front of the door at the very end.

Joe sniffed the air. There was a faint scent of lavender wafting from the room beyond, and orange light filtered from beneath the door. He took a deep breath.

"You good?" asked Grisby.

The hallway was silent. No sound came from the room. The light from beneath the door flickered like fading tongues of fire against the far wall.

"You sure she's dangerous? She doesn't sound dangerous."

The big man shrugged. "You never know."

"She's been fitted with the collar, right?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be a threat to you. But you remember something. They were Pokemon before them weird-ass lab guys got their hands on them, and they still are. You just go in there, show her who's boss; y'know, the whole master-and-slave jazz, and she wouldn't dare do shit to you. It's part of their natural instinct, to obey. You go in there, be in charge, and stay in charge."

Joe smiled. "C'mon, man. I've done this before. I'm not new to this or anything."

"Yeah, yeah. Friendly reminder, y'know. I'm off."

Grisby turned and strolled back down the corridor, whistling loudly. Joe slowly opened the door.

...

The first colour he saw was orange: the lighting, the furniture, the ambience. A small scented candle stood on the cracked mantelpiece, burning with a dim crimson flame. The walls were painted a faint peach, but completely bare, as was the floor. In the middle of the room was a bed.

He walked in, taking another look around the room. The morph was seated on the edge of the bed, back turned to him and hands folded on her lap. She didn't flinch in the slightest as he entered. Her lush, feathery tails were spread carefully over the bed, such that he could barely tell where they ended and the sheets began.

He shut the door behind him. Her triangular ears pricked up at the sound, but the rest of her didn't move. For a while he stood there, admiring her; the tendrils of long, smooth hair that flowed over her shoulders and her back, pooling gently on her thighs and backside, and her creamy-white fur, lustrous and unblemished, which perfectly accentuated the soft curves of her naked body.

She seemed almost serene as she sat there, ignoring his presence, but there was a tenseness in her supple muscles that he easily noticed. He readied himself. "Hey," he called. "Turn around."

The Ninetales continued to ignore him. He shouted again, and stepped forward.

That was when she pounced. Her ears flattened against her skull, and with a swift kick she was off the bed. She landed on all fours and in one impossibly fluid motion lunged at him, so gracefully that it seemed to him more like a strange, kinetic dance than a calculated attempt on his life.

Having expected the attack, he deftly leapt to a side. The Ninetales girl hit the ground loudly, rolled, and for a moment stared at him, her large eyes, crimson like the fire, somehow narrowed in fury yet wide in terror at the same time. The eyes of both a trained killer and cornered victim. He stared back at her, watching her with no small amount of amusement. She looked almost like an actual Ninetales in that position, tails flared out behind her, and an unconcealed, feral fear in her eyes.

Her muzzle parted in a tentative growl, baring her teeth. Before it escaped her lips, the metal collar around her neck activated and she crumpled onto the floor, screaming in a voice that sounded strangely human. Her soft, feminine form racked with convulsions as the collar did its job, and when it finished she lay in a whimpering heap on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around her chest and sobbing loudly.

The sight of the morph lying hurt on the ground jolted something in him, but he pushed it aside. _Show her who's boss_, he remembered. Besides, she _had_ just tried to kill him. He knelt down beside her prone form, tilting her chin up and staring fiercely into her tearful eyes. She met his gaze head on, but didn't try to worm away.

"Grisby was right. You're a fighter, aren't you?"

Those beautiful crimson eyes flickered for just a moment, but she didn't reply. He smirked.

"Come on, sweetie, I know you can talk. Any Pokemorph smart enough to bide her time and ambush me like that must have some kind of higher brain function."

The morph forced herself up and pulled away from him, a hand going up to the collar around her neck. He shook his head threateningly, then lunged forward and grabbed her by the wrists. She struggled against his grip. He yanked her onto her shaking feet.

"Look here, girl," he said, pulling her closer. "Don't talk if you don't want to. I don't care. In fact, I don't give a shit whether or not you open your mouth. But bottom line is, you're stuck with me for the night. Obey me like the good girl you are, and I can make it worth your while. But if you dare fight me or attack me like you just did, that collar isn't the only thing that's going to make you regret it."

She stopped struggling and stared up at him, her eyes wide and tearful. She blinked once, twice. He bit his lip so hard he almost tasted blood. She was a smart one, this girl.

Then suddenly, she spat on him, the glob of saliva hitting him squarely on the face. Her expression took on a fierce, unyielding defiance. He brought a hand to his face, slowly, like he'd seen in the movies, and wiped the spittle away. Then he slapped her hard across the cheek, so hard that she stumbled backwards and fell on the bed on her back. In an instant he was over her, one hand pressing her wrist into the mattress and the other on her throat.

She growled softly and squirmed. She was crying again, and rivulets of tears ran down her face and onto the sheets. He was angry, but as he saw her cry, he realized he was scared. Scared, inexplicably, of himself. Nonetheless he continued, determined to finish what he had started.

"Not very smart, was that?" he hissed.

The Ninetales continued to stare at him, her crimson eyes pleading and desperate. She remained silent.

"I'll ask you this once, and I want a response. Will you, or will not let me be your master for the night?"

He lifted his hand from her throat. He picked up a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers, admiring its silky smoothness. She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

"I want an answer."

No response.

"An answer, goddamnit! Speak! I know you can!"

He brought his arm down on her other wrist, pinning her against the bed. He wasn't a light man by any means, and the Ninetales yelped softly when he pressed his weight against her.

Deep inside him, something hurt. He tried to ignore it, but it was getting harder to do so. The morph trapped under his grip was a beautiful, delicate creature, and certainly didn't deserve what he was doing to her. Doubt took root in his mind, and he wanted desperately to stop. But he was already too far gone. He couldn't back down anymore, even if he wanted to.

"Please let go of me."

He almost gasped, but he kept silent. He tilted the morph's head to face him.

"I knew you could speak. Why didn't you?"

"I only speak," she said, "when I have something to say."

Her voice had a strangely hypnotic quality to it. She spoke with an odd accent that he recognised as being normally strong and resonant, but at the time simply came out as scared and weak. But who could possibly blame her? She had every right to be terrified of the violent, cruel man about to force himself upon her against her will.

He shook the thought from his head.

"Then speak," he growled. "I still expect an answer."

"If it will save me further pain and humiliation, then yes."

Her words, calmly yet tearfully spoken, struck a sensitive chord with him. He searched her face, expecting to find a cunning smirk on her lips or in her eyes, but her expression had become one of resigned placidity, and those gorgeous crimson pools shone from behind half-closed eyelids. There was still bitterness in her, he was sure, but she was trying to mask it, afraid to provoke the same show of violence she had suffered not ten seconds ago.

"Good," he said, his image of ferocity and dominance wavering.

Wordlessly, he picked her up and lifted her fully onto the bed, then positioned himself squarely over her. She said nothing as he did so. He knelt over her and began to undress himself, quickly undoing his belt and buttons, and threw his clothes carelessly onto the worm-eaten sofa nearby. Before he began he took a moment to look at the stunning body beneath him once more; his gaze tracing her long, slender legs, her toned, tight stomach, and lovely breasts, which were full and soft in the dim candlelight. But even though his eyes were open he barely saw her, and the sight of her did not arouse him as much it should have.

He went into her roughly and hurriedly, slipping his hands under her waist and shoulders and lifting her slightly off the sheets. She seemed to get a bit of fight back in her as he did so, clawing weakly at his back and growling into his ear, but he ignored her feeble resistances and continued. She wasn't the slightest bit into it, but he spent no time or effort trying to help her. When he was done he rolled off her and stared sorrowfully at the ceiling while she lay, seething quietly, by his side.

For a while they lay there, both solemn, both silent. After the initial rush of hormones that had gripped him had subsided he began to loathe himself for what had been done. But it was too late. It had been too late from the moment he'd entered the room.

He turned to face her. She turned to face him as well, her pretty features contorted by anger, then turned away again. He wanted to say something, but what was there to say?

The silence was intense, broken only by the pitter-patter of raindrops against the fogged-up window. Eventually he climbed out of bed and pulled on his clothes. When that was done he walked quietly to the door.

As he reached for the doorknob, he turned and gave the Ninetales-morph a final parting glance. She was sitting up on the bed, arms hugging her long legs to her chest, her tails spilling messily all over the grubby blankets. She hadn't bothered to cover herself up in any way, not with a sheet or even her hands. Instead she stared intently at the small candle flickering in the corner of the room, watching blankly the tall shadows it cast against the plain beige wall.

The sight of her sitting there, forlorn and hurt, was the final straw. His earlier determination to dominate and control her vanished in an instant, replaced instead by the overwhelming guilt that had been building up in him over the course of the night.

All pretenses were off. He utterly despised what he had done, and he no longer had any disguises to hide behind or warped ideals to justify himself with. He realized he had to say something. Apologize, maybe. But what could words possibly do?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, almost inaudibly.

She ignored him. Her ears didn't even twitch. He sighed, then opened the door. As he stepped into the corridor, he imagined her stare on the back of his neck as he shut the door behind him.

...

Grisby was seated at his usual spot behind the counter, thumbing through a crumpled magazine, when Joe walked once more into the lobby. The burly receptionist looked up when he heard the heavy footsteps approaching, and his eyes followed him as he plonked himself on an armchair and sat in silence.

"How was she?" he finally asked.

Joe didn't look up. "I've had better," he replied. "One hell of a looker, and tight, but can't say she was very enthusiastic."

"What do you mean?"

"She tried to kill me when I walked into the room."

Grisby laughed. "But you showed her her place, yeah?"

Joe didn't smile back. "Yeah. I did."

"So, let's discuss payment."

Still not looking up, Joe reached into his pocket and fished out a wallet. Then he walked over to the counter and dropped a couple of hundred dollar bills on it. Grisby leaned forward, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I thought you said she was crap."

"Yeah."

The big man hunched over the counter, propping his chin up with a massive hand. His small, squinty eyes stared inquisitively at Joe.

"What?"

"I know what's happening t'ya."

"Nothing's happening. I'm fine."

"Nah, something's happening," Grisby insisted. His gruff voice took on a serious, lecturing tone. "You're guilty. Now look here, kid. She's an animal. They all are. The only goddamn thing that matters to them is finding someone stronger who can whip them into shape. To show them their place. That's what them trainers do. That's what you gotta do. If you have to whack her up a little to do it, then so be it. Don't beat yourself up over it. That's the way it works."

Joe nodded half-heartedly. Grisby sighed.

"Look, kid, she was your first unbroken morph. It's bound to be different. In fact, y'know what? It's my fault. I shoulda warned you. Keep the cash. Call this a test drive or something."

Joe shook his head. "Nah, you keep it," he mumbled. "It's yours." Then he walked, hunched slightly, towards the exit. Grisby sighed loudly, shoved the bills into his pocket, and continued reading the magazine.

As the cracked glass doors began to slide open, a fleeting thought came to Joe's mind. He turned back to Grisby.

"Hey, Grisby, you said she wasn't broken yet. Does that mean was I her first?"

"Why?"

"Just asking."

Grisby sighed again.

"Look here, kid, you gotta sto-"

"Was I?"

"Whoa, ease up, kid. I-"

"Grisby, please."

The doors had opened, and the powerful winds outside flung stinging raindrops at Joe's cheeks. He barely noticed them. Grisby saw a strange fire in the young man's eyes.

"Before the lab? I have no idea. I mean, I don't know how Ninetales like to pass their time, if you know what I mean. But as a morph, then yeah, I'm pretty sure that was her first time."

Grisby's simple statement hit Joe like a sucker punch to the gut. He felt something physically snap within him. An overwhelming feeling of despair sank into the pit of his stomach and he bent over slightly, bringing a hand to his face.

"Hey, Joe, you alright?"

Without another word, Joe dashed out into the carpark. He stopped in the middle of the asphalt clearing, a soft cry escaping his lips, and for a long while he just stood there, eyes closed and head tilted upwards, towards the howling gales and the icy water that poured down on his shivering body.

Had he looked up then, Joe would have seen the curtains parting from a window three floors above him, and a pair of beautiful crimson eyes watching him silently as he stood in the storm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Kira**

**Chapter 2**

"You're back."

"Yeah."

The massive receptionist sat at the counter, easily towering over Joe even while seated. A smoldering cigarette burned in his hand. Joe looked absentmindedly at it.

"You want one?" asked Grisby. "It's a new pack."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "I don't smoke."

Grisby shrugged. "Suit yourself."

There was an awkward silence.

"So, how've you been?"

"Fine."

"C'mon, answer me. Since you stormed out into the rain that night I'd been wondering what'd become of you. Whether you'd go and do something stupid."

The young man let out a soft, humourless chuckle. "I'm not that dumb."

"How was I to know? You looked like crap."

"Yeah. Guess I did feel rather shitty."

Grisby took a big drag from his cigarette, then puffed out a small cloud of acrid smoke.

"I don't suppose you're just here to talk bout feelings and shit. If you are, though, lemme warn ya that I ain't too good at that kinda stuff."

"Coulda guessed."

The big man dropped his cigarette into a mug of cold coffee.

"So, the usual? I could read out the menu."

Joe leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter.

"Actually, I just wanted to know if she's here tonight."

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb. You know who."

Grisby rolled his eyes so far back into his head that Joe could only see the whites. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

"I wasn't supposed to even let you at her last week, Joe. And I don't think I should again. It wouldn't be good for you. Or her, but mainly you."

"I _need_ to see her, Grisby. C'mon. Come through for me this once."

Grisby sighed. "Why do you _need_ to see her?"

"Tie up some loose ends. It'll make me feel a hell of a lot better if she doesn't spend the rest of life planning to murder me as I sleep."

He sighed again, louder this time. "Same room. You wouldn't need me to chaperone you again, would you?"

"I think I can find my own way there."

"Watch your back. She's not gonna be happy to see you again."

"Then I'd rather watch my front."

Gradually, a small, reluctant smile crossed Grisby's ugly face. Joe grinned back, then set off towards the staircase.

...

The room was the same familiar shade of orange when he opened the door again. But the colours and smells seemed muted, somehow – the shadows seemed stronger, and the overhead lights glowed with a more subdued shine.

The Ninetales-morph was there, as he had expected, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw her anyway. She was sitting quietly on the bed and watching the small candle that burned weakly on the mantelpiece, feathery tails sprawled messily over the mattress just like they'd been when he'd last seen her. But this time she'd put on underwear, some lacy, gaudy black thing, and the first thing that came to his mind was how _wrong _it looked against her perfectly white fur.

She turned her head to face him as he approached. Her wide crimson eyes immediately narrowed and she half-jumped out of the sheets, her entire form tensing up in alarm. For a moment her ears twitched, like she contemplating another attack, but her eyes darted to the metal collar clamped around her neck, and she quickly decided against it.

"You," she hissed. She growled loudly, baring her teeth.

He said nothing. Carefully, keeping his eyes on her, he walked over to the sofa and sat down. She kept her gaze on him, too. The same feral rage shone in her eyes.

There was silence, both watching the other, both wary, both unsure of how to proceed. Eventually he broke the silence.

"I know we got off on the wrong foot…"

The morph snorted loudly. He almost slapped himself.

"That wasn't me the other day. I mean, it was me, but it… wasn't. I'm not that kind. Not usually."

He could almost feel her furious gaze blazing a hole right between his eyes. What the hell was he doing? Everything he'd just said could've come from some stupid rom-com, for god's sake.

He sighed. Better to just go straight out and say it.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was a complete bastard the last time. I'm sorry I raped you."

She continued to glare at him, but he sensed a bit of tension vanish from her manner. She eased back onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

"That is a weak apology."

He bit his lip, and stared at the stained carpet under his feet.

"I know."

"So you are not here today to do the same?"

He shook his head. She looked away, closing her eyes.

"I saw you that night, standing in the rain."

He looked up, eyes wide.

"You were there, standing unprotected under the winds and the torrents that fell from the sky. No doubt you would have felt cold."

Her accent was powerful and strangely compelling, but there was something hidden under her simple statement that he couldn't decipher. Was it bitterness? Forgiveness? Fury? He didn't know.

"It was. I was positively half-frozen when I got into my car."

"Then you were rather silly not to seek shelter, were you not?"

There was a hint of playful cheek in the Ninetales' rich voice that caught him by surprise. He looked at her, but her expression betrayed nothing. He was sure she was still scared of him; memories, especially bad ones, never dissipated so quickly. Then why…?

Perhaps she was simply mocking him. Perhaps she was simply taking advantage of his obvious remorse to squeeze in a spiteful remark or two at his expense. Or perhaps it was a gamble, a calculated risk on her part. Perhaps she had sensed something new in him, an emerging shred of remorse and humanity, and was making a tentative attempt to expose it for herself to see.

"Well, yeah," he replied, unsure of what to say. "I guess I was."

She looked away, her face still straight and unreadable. When she spoke again, the playful cheek was gone again, replaced once more by anger.

"You are not here just to apologise."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. And as much as he wanted to do the valiant thing and refute it, the very sight of her reclining half-naked on the bed made him realize he could not. He remained silent. Thoughts ran riot through his head.

She heaved an audible sigh, her gaze darting to the flickering candle on the mantelpiece.

"If you must, then come here. Make it quick."

He nodded dumbly. It occurred to him that the cruel, violent version of him that had brutalized her in their last unfortunate encounter must have seemed like a completely different person, and wondered if the sudden change in his manner confused her at all.

Quickly undoing his belt, he pulled off his pants, got up and walked over to the bed. She was lying on her back under the sheets, her silky locks cascading like water over the grubby pillows. The blankets were thin, and he could clearly see the curves of her wonderful body beneath it. His mouth opened slightly in awe. She shifted her gaze to meet his, her luminous red eyes meeting his own, and he began to want her very much.

He restrained himself as much as he could. He'd told himself he wasn't going to screw up the way he had the last time.

He climbed into the bed beside her, careful not to accidentally land on her tails. She watched his clumsy movements in what appeared to be mild amusement.

"You are not going to take me with your clothes still on, are you?"

A smile came to his face. He started to undo his shirt buttons, but to his tremendous surprise, the Ninetales-morph suddenly sat up and undid the last few for him.

Halfway along, she stopped, resting a delicate hand on his arm. "You are strong," she said.

"I work out. Didn't you notice the last time?

"No. I was too busy thinking of all the curses I would lay on you the moment I had this collar removed."

The statement sent a shiver down his spine. It was probably a joke, but it was delivered so matter-of-factly, so coldly, that it could just as easily be perceived as a threat. Maybe it was. Maybe it was simply a bit of both.

Finally, she was done. He picked up his shirt, throwing it absentmindedly on the ground. She looked at him, observing his muscled body with a sort of half-detached, half-impressed curiosity.

"Your turn," he said.

"I suppose you would like to assist me."

"If I must, I suppose."

For a first time, he saw the faintest semblance of a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. He smiled at her, egging her on. Then he hugged her close and slid his arms around her waist, reaching up and unclipping the clasp of her bra. He felt the warmth of her breath on his neck, which excited him, but at the same time made him uncomfortably aware of how close her razor teeth were to his jugular.

Slowly, he buried his face in the tuft of fur around her neck and breathed in. Her fur smelled faintly of rose petals, a musky yet pleasant aroma. She squealed, genuinely pleased, as he did so, and her hands started to circle his chest. He smiled again and lowered her gently onto the bed, then himself over her. She looked alluringly up at him with her gorgeous crimson eyes. He moved to remove her panties, slipping them hastily off her long, creamy legs.

She was naked underneath him once more, and the temptation to simply take her was overwhelming. Still he held back, intent on preparing her before he started. He began which her thighs, stroking them tenderly, rhythmically, then her belly, and finally her wonderful breasts, which he admittedly was rather too rough on. But she seemed to understand and forgive his desire, and wasn't against letting out soft moans of pleasure whenever he got something right.

Finally, he lowered his head and kissed her on the mouth, first lightly, then more strongly. She did not fully return the kiss, but she did not push him away either. Slyly, with their lips still locked, he shifted into position and entered her. Her eyes widened and she reflexively sunk a tooth into his lip. A small jolt of pain shot through his body, but he ignored it, shifting his head to her neck and nuzzling the silken fur on her shoulders. She moaned again.

He started slowly, waiting for her to catch up as much as possible, but his desire soon began to grow too great and he became faster, rougher. Her squeals of delight soon turned into soft yelps of discomfort, and her hands grew claws which dug painfully into his back. But those too he ignored, increasingly continuing only with consideration for his own pleasure. When he was finished he stayed in her for a while more but pulled his face away, looking down at her and panting. She looked right back up at him, panting as well.

After a moment he pulled himself out of her and rolled to his side. He turned to face her. She did the same.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Better," she said simply.

He nodded, then looked to the ceiling. It had definitely been better, until he'd gotten far too caught up near the end and became too harsh. For that he was disappointed with himself, but probably, he hoped, more than she was with him.

"Better?" he teased. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"No points of consideration or anything? No criticism?"

"I do not have much to base my feedback upon."

He closed his eyes.

"Grisby said I was your first after you got morphed."

"He is right."

"But before that? Wasn't there anyone? Another Ninetales?"

She shook her head. He groaned audibly, and brought a hand over his eyes.

"So last week was really your first time ever?"

"Yes."

"You're probably, what, twenty in human years now, right? That'd mean you were like ten years old when you the lab guys got you. In ten years as a Pokemon, not even once?"

She sat up in the bed, letting the sheets slide down to her lap and leaving herself exposed waist-up. Her eyes fixed once more on the tall shadows the candle cast on the wall.

"We Vulpixes and Ninetales, and most other Pokemon, actually, have unspoken rules when it comes to mating. For my kind it is a ritual of sorts, an initiation into a relationship that, naturally, only occurs with a loving partner. Our purity is not something we throw away carelessly. It is sacred to us. It is a gift we treasure, and are willing to wait a long time to give. Years, if we must."

She paused for a second, her eyes taking on a strange, faraway look.

"I had a trainer, and like her, I lived the life of a traveler, never settling down, never really looking. As a Ninetales I could live a very, very long time, and a few extra years never really struck me as too long a period to wait until a worthy recipient of that gift came along. I waited for a long time, until one day I ended up in the laboratory, and later in this room. Then you came along."

The morph's rich accent became subdued and bitter as she spoke the last few words. She turned to face him, and he could almost actually see the emotions churning behind her pretty red eyes. She was quiet and spoke no more, but in those few seconds of silence he heard every word she said. Eventually he could no longer bear to meet her gaze and looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "How many like me have there been?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know I am not your first. How many others did you take before me?"

He bit his lip. There was a faint taste of blood at the spot where her teeth had earlier landed.

"I don't know. Many. I never kept count."

She became silent, but it wasn't an angry silence. Her eyes took on a pensive, melancholic light.

He sighed deeply, then got out of the bed, picking his shirt off the floor. He did up his buttons with his back turned to her, then reached for his pants, which lay crumpled on the sofa. She watched him in silence.

When he was once again fully clothed, he turned back to her.

"So that's it, then?"

"Unless you have something else to say."

He walked, wordlessly, to the door. Her eyes left his face, returning once more to the odd little candle on the mantelpiece. He followed her gaze.

"Why do you look at that candle so much?"

"I like watching fire. It is a beautiful thing; wild, mysterious, untamed. The sight of it soothes me."

He bowed his head. "That candle's not gonna last much longer."

"I know."

"I can bring a new one next time."

She looked at him, a gentle, pretty smile on her face.

"Next time?"

He smiled back.

"If you would let me."

...

There was an odd sweeping sound in the lobby which Joe heard as he descended the staircase. As it turned out, Grisby had picked up a broom and was making himself busy, knocking discarded beer cans and fruit peels into corners and under furniture. It was a humorous sight, the near 7-foot tall man struggling with a rotting wooden broomstick barely half his height, and Joe almost laughed out loud when he saw it.

The giant receptionist looked up when he noticed Joe's presence. He chucked the broomstick into a small closet and returned to his usual spot. Joe walked over to a barstool and set himself down, one arm resting casually on the counter. Grisby watched him with amusement.

"You look better," he said plainly.

"Thanks."

"So."

"So?"

Grisby smirked. "Tied up them loose ends?"

"Yeah. Least I think I did. She didn't go for my throat this time."

"Improvement, then."

"Could tell she considered it. Then she probably remembered the collar."

Grisby winced. "Ah, I see. Nasty piece of work, that. I tell ya, them blokes at the lab are some seriously messed up fuckers, coming up with things like that."

"You got some water?"

"I think the taps still work."

The big man grabbed a mug from under the counter and walked over to the sink.

"Better this time, then?"

"Guess you could say that."

The taps were working. Grisby filled up the mug then handed it to Joe, who took it appreciatively. He sipped. The water was cold, but otherwise not particularly offensive to the tongue, which was a pleasant surprise. The receptionist/bartender sat himself back down. His chair creaked in protest.

"I assume you've got ya wallet?"

Joe reached into his pocket.

"What's the standard price again?"

"We usually set it at 'round 80 a night."

Joe opened his wallet and counted through the bills. "Tell you what,' he said. "I had fun tonight, so I'll up it a bit. But not as much as last time, of course. Say, 120?"

Grisby whistled. "Seriously, kid. 200 last week, 120 this week? It's like you're made o' cash or something."

"I get by."

He took another long sip of water.

"Y'know what, Grisby, lemme give you a proposition."

The receptionist grinned. "I'm listening."

"Has that girl – y'know, the Ninetales chick – been put on the regular roster yet?"

The grin rapidly disappeared from Grisby's face. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"No. Not yet. But we're opening her up to the public starting tomorrow."

"Then do me a little favour. I'll top my payment up to a hundred-eighty and keep it there if you erase her from that roster of yours."

Grisby frowned. The layers of loose skin on his face sagged heavily around his chin, giving him the appearance of an old, perturbed bulldog.

"I don't think I can do that, Joe. This here operation runs on principle, not cash."

Joe almost spat out his mouthful of water. "Principle?" he chuckled. "For god's sake, you guys turn innocent little animals into half-human freaks, scaring the shit outta them in the process, and immediately start whoring them out to total fucking strangers with bulges in their pockets and their pants. Where's the principle in that?"

Grisby didn't laugh. "You know what I mean, kid. These girls are whores. That's their job – their _only_ job. It ain't part of their job to start messin' around with their clients' heads. And it ain't my job to let that kinda thing happen. Far as I'm concerned, you went up there, gave it to her nice and slow, and got everything straightened out. That's it. End of story."

"C'mon, Grisby. Please? She's not messing with my head or anything. I just need a bit more time alone with her. A week or two. No more."

The big man sighed.

"I don't like this."

"One week, Grisby. That's all."

"You sure?"

"Promise."

Grisby reluctantly pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. He carefully ripped off small section of the schedule, crumpled it, and threw it on the ground. Joe smiled broadly.

"Thanks, man."

"I cover for you too much, you know."

Joe moved his hand to his wallet. Grisby raised his arm, stopping him.

"Don't. I'll give you this one for free. But a week is all you're getting. Nothing more. Now get outta here."

Joe immediately obeyed, jumping off his stool and heading for the doors. When he entered the carpark, Grisby suddenly called to him. He turned around in surprise. "What?" he yelled.

"You watch how you keep that head of yours screwed on, kid. This ain't the kind of place where you wanna be thinking out that kind of thing."

The sliding doors slid shut behind him, obscuring the big man from view. Joe turned back around, puzzled, and headed for his car.

What 'thing' was Grisby talking about? Joe thought about it for a while as he sat in the driver's seat. Eventually he shrugged, reaching for the ignition. It probably didn't matter. He wasn't going to waste too much time thinking about the cryptic message. After all, he had candles to buy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Kira**

**Chapter 3**

Grisby was saying goodbye to the last customer of the day when Joe entered the lobby. Said customer was a thin, rather unassuming specimen of a man – tall and lanky, with a pair of darkened sunglasses covering his eyes. Wordlessly, he brushed past Joe on his way out the door. Joe glanced at him as he walked to the counter.

"Haven't seen him around before," he said to Grisby.

"Well, you never come during the regular hours."

"What's his story?"

"Dunno. Comes every now and then, never says anything. Just drops the cash here, mentions a name, then disappears an hour or so."

"Who'd he have this time round?"

"One of the Eevee-utions. Can't remember which one. That lot really is a crowd favourite. Never really figured out why, though."

Joe shrugged.

"Neither have I. And _I_ speak from experience."

Grisby grinned.

"What makes you think I don't?"

A horrifying image of Grisby forcing all 7 feet and 250 pounds of himself upon a unfortunate, screaming morph suddenly forced its way into Joe's mind. He shuddered, but was sure to make sure the massive receptionist didn't notice.

"Hey, what's in the bag?"

Grisby tilted his head towards the small brown paper bag Joe carried in his hand.

"Nothing. A couple of candles."

"What for?"

"The Ninetales girl has a candle in her room. It was burning out, so I told her I'd grab a few new ones."

Grisby brought a palm to his face.

"What now?"

"You don't give the girls stuff, Joe. Maybe you tip them a couple bucks or something. But you don't buy them presents."

"It's just a gift, Grisby. A few sodding candles. What's wrong with that?"

"It's not the present you're getting her, kid. It's the fact you're getting her something. You don't give stuff to whores. It makes them think too much of what's going on between you two. Hell, it makes _you_ think too much about what's going on between you two."

"You're reading too much into this, Grisby."

The big man shook his head gravely.

"I'm not, Joe."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Okay, so maybe I do sorta like her. Not as a future girlfriend or anything, just someone I'd, y'know, like to know- what?"

Grisby pointed an accusing finger at Joe. He stopped in mid-sentence.

"What?"

"There. Right there. You're thinking about it."

"Thinking about what?"

"You want her. Not just like a whore, but as more than that. Lemme tell you something, Joe. Remember that at the end of the day, she's just a prostitute. A tart. A ho. She ain't a girlfriend or something to ya, Joe. Don't let her think she is."

"Well, firstly," Joe started, "she didn't _choose_ to be a whore. _You_ made that choice for her. And besides, how many times do I have to tell you, Grisby? I'm still on top here! Sure I like her, but it's not like I'm gonna marry her or anything! Come _on_!"

Grisby shook his head disapprovingly. "I dunno, Joe. You're changing. Buying stuff and running errands for some cheap whore? That's not you. I don't like it."

Something about the way Grisby called the morph a whore bothered Joe deeply. He realized it made him upset; angry, even.

"Look, Grisby, I don't want to fight now. I'm just gonna go up to her room, get my weekly fix, then I'll come back and we can finish this discussion. You did keep her off the roster, right?"

Grisby sighed. "I told you a week, I give you a week. I'm a man of my word, Joe."

"Thanks, then."

Joe made his way to the stairs. He was halfway up the stairs when Grisby called out to him.

"Hey, Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"When you're in there, you make sure you keep your head on your shoulders. Don't let it go flying off into space. This ain't the kind of place where you wanna consider long-term feelings an' shit, especially when all you know about the chick is her cup size and how tight she is down-under. That's not a lot to go on."

Joe smirked.

"Yeah, Grisby. Whatever."

Then he climbed up the creaking staircase, until the lobby disappeared from view.

...

Joe rolled off the Ninetales-morph and lay on his back, his eyes closed peacefully. She rolled over with him, resting her muzzle against his neck, and he blinked his eyes open to look at hers. She smiled at him, placing a delicate hand on his chest. Smiling gently back at her, he slid a hand around her neck and slipped it along her waist, gently stroking the soft fur that lined her belly.

No words were spoken between them for a while. They both stared off into space, each reveling in the warm, comfortable post-coital afterglow that filled them with drowsy delight. The room was silent – a nice, serene silence they both appreciated immensely.

"Y'know," he finally said, "I still don't know what to call you."

She giggled mirthfully. "We have been together three times already. Is it not odd that we have not once referred to each other by name?"

"I do feel rather embarrassed about that," he mumbled, biting his lip. "I'm Joe," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Well, Joseph," she said, suddenly pulling away from him, "I have no name, save that which my trainer used on me."

She sat up in the bed and started flicking strands of silver hair absentmindedly from her face. Then she closed her pretty crimson eyes and pulled her knees to her chest. He watched her, surprised by her sudden change in mood.

"What did your trainer call you?"

"She called me Kira. Short for Yakira, she said."

"Kira. That's a pretty name."

The morph closed her eyes. She shoulders slumped slightly under the sudden weight of a painful, distant memory that he realized he had unwittingly dredged up.

"It is a Hebrew name. It means 'precious', she told me once."

"Precious?"

"Someone used to think so."

She was silent. He looked guiltily at her, then away, wanting to make her smile but unsure of how to do so.

An idea came to his mind. He climbed out of bed, dressing himself quickly, and picked the small brown paper bag off the sofa.

"Got you a present," he said, grinning.

She looked at him, a curious glint in her eyes. He walked over to the mantelpiece, picking one of the two candles from the bag. The candle that had been there had just about melted, having turned into a mess of melted, dripping wax with a charred wick that burned with a weakly flickering flame. Nonetheless, he managed to use its flame to light the replacement, which he carefully settled beside it on the mantelpiece.

He turned around, and almost jumped up in surprise. She had somehow materialized beside him without him noticing, a thin white sheet pulled tightly around her ample chest. But her eyes were not on him.

"It burns far brighter," she said, staring at the new flame with wonder.

"Well, it's new. And pricey. I grabbed the brightest and longest-lasting one the store said they had."

"Thank you," she said suddenly, her voice wavering.

"Hey, no problem. It wasn't mu- are you okay?"

Inexplicably, the Ninetales-morph had started crying. Tears sparkling like gemstones in the orange candlelight flowed down her cheeks, but she did not move, save to pull the sheet even tighter against her body. Her tails scattered limply across the floor. He found himself completely lost for words.

"Look, don't cry," he stammered. "I'm sorry. I could have-"

"It is not your fault, Joseph," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Thank you so much. You do not know how much this gift means to me."

The glow of the flame reflected brightly in her wet eyes. He looked at the candle, then at her, and instinctively he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her trembling form and giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.

They stood in silence, hugging each other close. Then slowly, she pushed him away, her eyes darting to the brown bag.

"Do you have another candle in there?"

He looked at her. Her crimson eyes were still damp, but in a flash they had lost all trace of pain and vulnerability. What he saw instead was a fierce, almost intimidating steeliness that stunned him.

"Well, yeah. I got a spare."

"May I have it?"

Joe handed the spare candle to her. She took it in both hands and let the sheet covering her drop to the ground, leaving her body exposed. She examined the simple tube of wax for a second, spinning it in her hands, then rested in on the mantelpiece, unlit.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing myself."

"This isn't a good idea, Kira-"

"Stand back, Joseph."

Her voice was stern, commanding He stepped backwards, almost to the other side of the room, his expression speaking of clear unease. She ignored it, focused intently on the unlit candle before her.

The next thing was happened was so rapid, so sudden that he barely registered it. With a blink of her eyes the Ninetales morph enveloped herself in a dim, bluish glow that covered every inch of her body, from the triangular ears standing alert on either side of her head to the orange tips of all nine of her tails. He gasped. She raised an arm, squinting her eyes, and a ghostly ball of fire, orange like the burning candles, materialized over her palm. She shuddered once, violently, and her expression took on a sudden alarm, almost like she was shocked at how much the apparently simple task was taking out of her.

"Stop Kira!" he shouted. "It's the collar! It's puts a damper on your abili-"

His eyes suddenly widened. The collar. It was programmed to fire off a shock proportionate to the amount of energy the morph was expending. If it triggered at that moment, she was going to get hit with a discharge as strong as a lightning bolt.

Luckily it didn't activate immediately. But when it did…

He shouted again, rushing towards her. She heard his cry and turned to face him. Her eyes, like his, darted to the collar around her neck, and when she looked back up at him they were filled with the same primal fear he recognized from their first encounter. But she turned back to the unlit candle, intent on finishing her task.

She concentrated for another second then flicked her fingers outward, tossing the small clump of fire towards the wick. It caught, burning in a soft peachy glow, and she smiled. Then a loud buzz filled the room, and the collar glowed a terrifying fluorescent yellow.

After a single, heart stopping moment, it fired. The blue glow around the morph immediately died. Every fur on her body shot out at once. She dropped to her knees, clawing desperately at the collar in a single surviving second of coherent thought. Then she collapsed entirely on the carpet and started writhing in agony, eyes bulging and rolling crazily in their sockets, and mouth opened in a howl that never materialized as sound. The power coursing through her body made her actually shine a dazzling yellow. He flinched, raising a hand to shield his face.

Ten seconds later, it was over. The morph lay unconscious on the floor, limbs twisted painfully around and tongue lolling from her mouth. He dropped to the ground beside her and promptly started to check her vital signs, putting two fingers to her throat and his ear to her mouth. To his immense relief, apart from the badly-singed fur around her neck and shoulders and the thin trail of blood running from her nose and mouth, she was alright.

Carefully, she lifted her from the floor and lay her down on the bed, pulling a blanket over her. He pulled the sofa closer to the bedside and sat down, watching her lie, his mind still reeling from the horror he had just witnessed.

"That wasn't smart," he muttered numbly.

Naturally, she did not reply. Her ears hung limp behind her closed eyes.

…

He blinked himself awake, breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room.

It was a dream, he realized, to his immense relief. Well, most of it was. The Ninetales-morph still lay serenely before him, still unconscious, still beautiful. He remembered carrying her onto the bed after the collar had almost killed her. He must have had somehow dozed off sometime after that.

Reaching forward, he tapped her gently on the arm, hoping fervently that she would respond. She didn't awaken, but she at least she did stir somewhat – a good sign. He smiled and sat himself back down, watching her sleep.

The smile, however, quickly died. As he watched her, his innocent gaze grew increasingly hungrier. Something other than concern was beginning to grow within him – arousal.

She was, as she often was, naked under the covers, and something about her limp, almost lifeless body and shallow, rapid breathing was starting to, to his immense discomfort, turn him on. He bit his lip, determined to keep himself away from her, but as he watched her breasts rise and fall with each fitful breath and her long, gorgeous legs shifting under the blanket, the sordid temptation grew.

Before he knew it he was kneeling over her, his legs straddling either side of her hips. She was still covered with the blanket and he was still clothed, but he worried about how long that was going to last.

Lowering a hand to her face, he brushed her cheek lightly. When she didn't stir, he slid his hand across her muzzle, then down her shoulders before bringing it to her left breast. He gave it a little squeeze, feeling its lovely firmness through the layers of cloths. The feeling exhilarated yet disgusted him, but he continued nonetheless, forced along by the rush that had somehow taken complete hold of him.

He bent down over her, nuzzling her roughly in her neck, feeling the cold metal of the collar against his face. He flung the blankets from her limp body, leaving her bare. A hand went to his belt, and he just was just about to undo it when she coughed. Her eyelids blinked open slowly, and he found himself staring right into her gorgeous, sparkling, confused red eyes. He froze.

She was weak and clearly could not muster the strength to talk or move, but her eyes opened just enough to trace the body of the man above her, first peering at his shocked face, then at the obvious bulge in his crotch and the hand hovering above his belt. She looked back up at him, first shocked then deeply hurt, but she simply closed her eyes and looked away.

Too stunned too move for a second, he remained over her. Then he immediately leapt off the bed, running towards the door and slamming it loudly behind him.

Once he was in the dark, dusty corridor, he stared blankly into the blackness around him, then buried his face in his hands and slumped to the floor.

...

Grisby was waiting, arms crossed, for Joe when the young man walked into the lobby.

"What happened, Joe?"

"The collar. It damn near killed her."

"Shit. She didn't die, did she? Sure as hell sucked the last time that happened."

Grisby spoke the sentence impassively, without the slightest trace of emotion in his gruff voice. Joe felt his blood begin to boil, but he tried to ignore it.

"Nah. I woke her up, then left. She'll pull through."

The big man shrugged and picked up the magazine lying open on the counter. "Payment," he said simply, not looking away. "You guys did do it, right?"

"Yeah."

"No reason not to pay up, then."

Joe gritted his teeth.

"For fuck's sake, Grisby! She almost died! Can you at least _pretend_ that matters to you?"

Grisby ignored him, continuing nonchalantly to read his magazine.

"Fine then. What she was worth, right?"

Joe reached into his wallet. He pulled several hundred dollars from it, more than he had the last time, and dropped them on the counter. Grisby's squinty eyes darted to the crumpled green notes for a second, then he sighed loudly and slapped his magazine shut.

"What?" sneered Joe.

"What? That's a bloody large amount of cash for a single night!"

"Well, that's what I thought she was worth. You saying you don't want it?"

"I ain't just some greedy penny-pinching rat from the streets, kid. I like cash every bit as much as the next guy, but if it's coming in for the wrong reasons then I'm not gonna accept it."

Joe crossed his arms.

"Wrong reasons?"

Grisby frowned.

"It's clear as day, kid. You're letting her get to your head."

"I told you before, Grisby. I'm not. I'm still in control here."

The monster of a man stood up and slammed his oversized palms into the counter. Joe could almost feel the floor shake beneath his feet. He didn't flinch.

"Bullshit," sneered Grisby.

"Then what am I doing wrong? Tell me!"

The words came out more harshly than Joe'd intended, but he couldn't help it. Grisby's ugly sneer grew wider.

"You asking me? Really?"

"Well, yeah! I mean, I can't see what I'm doing that's getting you so pissed, so go ahead and tell me!"

"As if it ain't obvious enough!" the big receptionist shouted. "Three goddamn fucks and she's got you acting all light-headed and crazy and screwed in the head! Snap out of it, Joe! It ain't right!"

Joe let out a small snigger. Then he turned his head to the ceiling and laughed.

"Y'know, Grisby. I see it now. You've been pissed cause I'm starting to like her. Cause she's good to me, and I wanna return the favour. Cause she almost got killed by the goddamn collar, and I'm concerned for her. So let's hear it right here, right now. What's so fucking wrong with me wanting to _like_ her?"

"Cause she's a goddamn freak of nature! A stupid fucking Pokemon!"

"That's why?" Joe snorted mockingly. "Cause she's a morph? For god's sake, she thinks like a human chick, acts like a human chick, and has the body of a fucking supermodel! Besides, I'm screwing her! You're saying it's okay to commit the ultimate in cardinal fucking sins with her, but not okay to treat her halfway decently?"

"Exactly! C'mon, Joe, open your fucking eyes! She's a goddamn Ninetales morph! A sneaky, manipulative bitch! She's up to something! Look what she's done to you!"

Joe threw his hands up in the air.

"Man, this just gets better and better! Cause she has pointy ears and tails, I can't trust her. I can't like her as a person, only as a hole. She can't be treated like a human even though she's the strongest, most forgiving, and most insanely hot girl I've ever met. Is it so wrong for me to want to make her _not_ go for my throat every time she sees me? To want to be _nice_ to her?"

"This ain't just about being Mr. Nice Guy in the bedroom, kid! It's more than that, and you know it!"

To Grisby's shock, Joe started to nod slowly. The young man's eyes suddenly seemed very far away from all the heated anger of their argument. Then he looked up, an odd grin on his face.

"Yeah. You know what, Grisby? It might be more than that."

For a moment, Grisby eyes bugged, and he looked almost like he was about to physically lunge at Joe. But instead he brought a massive hand to his face and groaned.

"I can't talk to you know, Joe. You're completely fucked up. Get out of here, get your head screwed back on straight, and think about it properly. What you're getting yourself into. It ain't fucking _right_."

With a sweep of his massive arm, Grisby flung Joe's money onto the ground.

"Keep your cash. I sure as hell ain't taking it today."

Joe shrugged. "Your loss," he spat, and bent down to pick up the notes.

Grisby watched him, shaking his head. "This ain't you, Joe. You ain't right. That bitch's wormed her way into your system. The faster you get her out, the better."

Wordlessly, Joe stood up and walked to the doors. Then he stopped.

"Her name's not 'bitch'," he called over his shoulder. "It's Kira. Short for Yakira."

Grisby snorted. "Yuh-kira. Huh. And how do you know that?"

"Easy. I asked her."

With that, Joe stepped forward, through the cracked sliding doors. If they hadn't opened properly, which sometimes happened, he probably would've simply smashed them open with his boot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Kira**

**Chapter 4**

"Hey, Grisby."

The massive receptionist was standing behind the counter, his back turned to Joe. He didn't turn around when he heard the doors slide open, or when Joe walked up to the bar stool but didn't sit down.

"You'd better not be here to see her again, Joe."

"No. I'm here to make another deal."

Grisby grudgingly turned around, his bushy brow furrowed deeply. Joe swallowed.

"Go on. Spit it out."

"You run this operation, right?"

"Co-run it."

"So I can talk to you about this, right?"

"About what?"

"About Kira."

"Ah, that Ninetales whore. What about her?"

Joe took a deep breath, restraining his anger. He could feel it welling up inside him; Grisby's ugly face and attitude did that a lot for him nowadays. He flipped a thick envelope onto the counter.

"There's five thousand dollars in this envelope, Grisby. Enough for her freedom?"

"Lemme get this straight, Joe. You're trying to buy her out?"

"Yes."

A silence fell between the two. Joe held his breath. Grisby stared down at him, his expression blank.

Suddenly, Grisby let out a loud, violent snort, like he couldn't decide whether to laugh, sneer or sigh at Joe. Joe stumbled backwards, caught off guard by his reaction.

"You're kidding me, Joe."

"I'm not, Grisby."

The big man bellowed, but his grating laughter was not mirthful. The sound of it almost made Joe wince. Finally he stopped, and his face became unnervingly emotionless in the blink of an eye. He rested his oversized elbows on the counter, bringing his glare level with Joe's.

"Okay, Joe. Look here. I wouldn't go into my explanations on how incredibly fucked up your knight-in-shining-armour fantasy is, cause you obviously aren't listening to me. Let's talk figures instead. That Ninetales is one bloody hot morph. You know that. She's gonna pull in what, five, maybe six customers a night? I pluck off eighty each time someone takes a crack at her. That's four, maybe five hundred a night. You've got five thousand in your dainty little envelope there. That's ten nights. That's not a lot, Joe. Not enough for me, and certainly not enough for the other boss. He's not as kind-hearted as I am."

Joe bit his lip, furious.

"How much do you want?" he growled.

Grisby leisurely reclined from the counter. He made a grand show of pretending to actually consider the question, tilting his head skywards and tapping his chin with a finger as thick as a sausage.

"Five million dollars."

Joe's jaw dropped.

"That's impossible, Grisby."

A nasty smirk split the big man's ugly face.

"Exactly. Any more feedback? If not, get your ass out of here. You're not welcome today."

Joe slumped on the counter, stunned, his heart sinking into his stomach. Grisby turned around again and busied himself organizing papers in the filthy cabinet behind him. When Joe looked up he saw a small patch of blood growing on the receptionist's shirt, behind his shoulder.

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah. So?"

"What happened?"

"Something bit me."

"Looks pretty nasty."

"Yeah. It was."

Joe turned to leave, resignedly grabbing his envelope from the table. Then he stopped.

"You smell odd, Grisby."

Grisby didn't reply, but he did turn to face Joe. His sneer had grown wider, stretching grotesquely from ear to ear.

It was a hard scent for Joe to place, not least because it was so faint, but when he realized what it was his heart skipped a beat.

"You smell like rose petals," he stammered.

Grisby laughed. In a flash, Joe found himself bolting towards the staircase. The receptionist didn't try, or simply didn't bother, to stop him.

…

Kira cried softly, crumpling the sheets tightly around her aching body. Her tails and hair lay in utter disarray, scattered wildly across the bed. She thumped the mattress in frustration and fury. Her head hurt. So did her arms, after the big man had brutally crushed them into the bed. She remembered how he had forced himself viciously upon her, brutally violated her, and how she had screamed and fought him until the collar activated again.

She cried again, screaming at nowhere, digging her nails deep into the palms of her hand. She cried in rage, in desperation, in hate. She cried, pitying herself for her foul plight, and yelled curses at all who had driven her into it. As she cried tears flew from her eyes, landing on the soiled sheets around her.

She cried in pain.

Unconsciously, her hands travelled to her neck, feeling the cold metal of the collar resting on her collarbone.

She realized just how much she hated that collar. Not only because of the pain it gave her and the pain it allowed others to inflict on her, but also because of what it was: a despicable marker that represented exactly what she had become. What she had sunk to – a slave, bound against her will, pushed around by threats of torture and agony.

It wasn't right. She was destined to be the embodiment of fire – graceful, powerful, and most of all, free. Free like a spirit flying in the wind, or a Rapidash running the endless plains. Unburdened. Unbridled. Now she was both, and worse.

She looked down at the collar for a second, relishing the rage the mere sight of it gave her.

Slipping her fingers beneath it, she pulled at it until her fingers started to cramp, mustering all the anger she could summon into her arms. She pulled until she started to choke, but the metal did not yield in the slightest. It was too strong, and she was too weak.

Eventually she gave up, hands dropping limply onto her lap. Her muzzle hurt; not surprising, as her nose was delicate and his fist was not. There was a slight taste of copper in her mouth. She wondered if it was her own, or whether her teeth had drawn more blood from him than she'd assumed. It was a nice thought.

She lifted her head. The two candles burnt silently on the mantelpiece across the room. She watched their faint light for a while, imagining their warmth against her skin.

Then she grabbed a dim lamp from her bedside and flung it at the dripping rolls of wax with all her might. She missed, and the lamp shattered into countless shards of glass and plastic against the far wall. Not that it actually mattered.

Resting her head on a pillow, she closed her eyes, and drifted off into a fitful slumber.

…

The first thing she saw as she awoke was his face. He was looking right at her, visibly concerned, and the sight of him, to her surprise, warmed her.

"Are you okay?"

She said nothing. Her response was a simple nod.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he said.

"There was nothing you could have done."

He was seated at the side on the bed, right next to where she lay. She could feel his weight on the mattress beside her, pulling her in. He reached down, brushing his fingers through her hair.

"What did he do to you?"

"I do not wish to discuss it."

They were silent. She looked away into empty space, while his eyes remained on her.

"He was not the first tonight."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"How many others, then?"

"Five, each more brutal than the last."

He bent over, tenderly kissing her. As he lifted his head away, she saw in his eyes that he was racked with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said again. This time there was a slightly pleading, frantic touch in his words.

"It was not your fault."

She felt like she wanted to cry again. She wanted to blame someone, anyone. Anyone, that was, but him.

"Why did this happen to me?"

His face was buried in his hands, but he looked up when she questioned him.

"What?"

"Why was I put into this body? This strange, unnatural violation of nature – of my true, proper form… why was I changed?"

He looked away, crossing his arms on his lap.

"It was a laboratory. The one you were sent to. They've been doing experiments – trying to create something; a soldier, I think. Someone who can fight for them."

"I cannot fight. My transformation left me far weaker than I used to be. Why-"

"They are many like you, Kira. Grisby takes young, pretty morphs from the lab, brings them here, and gives the lab a cut of the money they pull in. You're a source of funding to them."

He spoke the words softly, painfully, and as he finished he spoke in a strained whisper.

"I knew Grisby before this operation started. I was one of his first customers."

His voice died. She stared at him, unsure of what to think. After a while, he stood up, clenching his fists. He turned to her, fury written all over his face.

"I'll kill him, Kira. I will. For this, and for everything else he's done to you."

She didn't know what to say. After a pause, she simply nodded dumbly. He turned for the door.

"Wait," she said.

He turned around, confused. She climbed out of bed. Grisby had forced her to wear the same ugly black underwear she had worn a couple of weeks back, but apart from that she wore nothing else, and when the sheets fell off her lithe body she was half-bare.

…

"What are you doing?"

She said nothing, but his question was unnecessary anyway. He knew exactly what she was doing – what she wanted from him.

He could hear the blood rushing through his ears, even more so when she brought her arms silkily around his neck, pressing her chest against his. She kissed him, but he was too stunned to fully return the gesture.

"Take me," she whispered softly.

"I-it wouldn't be right," he stammered. "Not after what just happened to you."

To his shock, the morph suddenly bared her teeth and growled. He flinched and quickly backed away, but she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and, with surprising strength, threw him on the bed. She stepped before him, her muscles tense and her nine feathery tails swishing aggressively behind her back.

"What's come over you?" he asked, shocked.

She leaned over him, her crimson eyes narrowed. Her rich accent wavered as she spoke.

"You do not understand what just happened to me, Joseph. You never will. Nothing you do can possibly make you understand."

She paused. "I don't get it-", he started, but she cut him off again.

"I need to believe, Joseph. After today, I need to believe – again – right here, right now, that someone out there cares for me. I need to, or I will _die_."

"I do care for you, Kira!"

She shook her head so violently that her hair whipped painfully at his face.

"Words are not enough, Joseph. Right now, I need something more. Something more physical. More _real_."

"I-"

"You wanted to take me last time, while I was defenseless and weak. Do not think I have forgotten, Joseph. I know very well – all too well – how much you want me. I want you too. Make love to me. Now."

His face turned red. He tried to apologise, but she simply brushed him aside and leaned in closer.

"Please, Joseph."

She growled as she spoke, and her words sounded more like a threat than a plea to him. Her breath, coming in small, rapid pants, was musky and intoxicating against his face, and her crimson eyes, normally so subdued and lovely, burned with an unnatural, almost intimidating lust.

"You care for me, do you not?" she demanded.

He opened his mouth, but in his shock no words came out.

Not waiting for an answer, she tried to undo his belt, but with her razor claws and her haste she almost shredded the leather in half. Desperate to stop her, he pulled her in and kissed her deeply, which made her snarl instinctively for a second before she threw herself further into his embrace.

For a while they remained in that position, lips locked furtively, eyes first closed, then opened. Then she planted her hands on his chest and pushed herself away, staring down at him and panting heavily. She looked crazed – desperate, even. His mind travelled back to their first encounter, to the tense few seconds before and after she pounced, and he recognized the near-feral anguish in her eyes.

"Take me," she repeated, gasping. She was sweating despite the cold, and locks of her silver hair cascaded all over his face, caressing his cheeks and framing hers.

"Yes," he replied.

Hastily, they clambered onto the bed. She yanked his T-shirt and jeans off his body as his fingers fumbled with her bra strap and panties. Their actions were aggressive, harried, and a distant observer could be forgiven for mistaking their union as a violent, frenzied struggle, for in a way it was. When they were naked they took a second to catch their breath, exploring each other with their hands and eyes, and then they began, her on top and setting a frantic pace for him to keep up with.

They started fast and rough, becoming even faster and rougher as they continued. Neither he nor she found much pleasure in it, but that had long since ceased to matter to either of them. He grunted, sometimes in pain. She let out strained yelps and snarls, and when she climaxed she screamed, a piercing, startling shriek.

After she had calmed down she slid herself slowly from him, making him gasp, then fell on the bed beside him. Together they gasped for air, both too winded to speak or even look at each other.

"Thank you," she finally panted.

He turned to her. To his relief, some of the unhinged fervour in her crimson eyes had dissipated.

"You're welcome, I guess."

Silence fell between them, as they each took the time to fully process what had just happened. Their eyes never left each other for a moment.

Finally she smiled at him, her expression suddenly tender, yet strangely worried at the same time.

"Joseph, do you care for me?"

He smiled reassuringly back at her.

"I just told you, didn't I?"

"Please say it again."

Her eyes were still damp, shining like a pair of polished rubies, and he could see himself reflected in them. He reached out a hand towards her, stroking her face gently.

"I do, Kira."

She brought her hand up to meet his, lacing their fingers together. If he'd ever needed any reminder of her beauty, he thought to himself, then the smile on her face at that very moment would have been it.

A determined frown came to his face. He sat up.

"I will get you out of here," he said. "Even if it kills me."

She, too, sat up.

"Please do," she whispered. And that was all she said.

She kissed him again, wrapping her slender, white arms tightly around his shoulders. To him, all the violence and hatred of the world outside suddenly seemed a thousand miles away.

…

Joe stormed down the stairs. Grisby was wiping a few grimy mugs with an old dishcloth, and didn't bother to face Joe when he slammed his hands on the counter.

"You goddamn son of a bitch," Joe spat, filling his voice with as much venom as he could.

The insult did nothing but bring an amused smirk to Grisby's face,

"That ain't very nice, Joe. Didn't your momma teach you some manners?"

"You fucking raped her, Grisby."

"Did I, now?" he sneered. "Well, so did you."

Joe lashed out a fist at the big man's face. It didn't take him long to realize his mistake. He was no weakling himself, but Grisby was at least a foot taller than him, and with the copious amounts of fat and muscle on his enormous frame, over a hundred pounds heavier. But the punch should have at least landed, if only the huge man hadn't been so deceptively fast.

With a single, brutal movement, Grisby twisted Joe's arm in an agonizing lock and smashed his face into the counter.

"Why?" wheezed Joe.

"Simple, kid. You teach disobedient dogs with sticks. They don't learn their lesson? You beat them. She needed to be taught one – a good one. You did, too. Besides, you didn't think I wouldn't want a piece o' _that_, did ya?"

He chuckled maliciously. Joe gritted his teeth and tried to squirm free, but Grisby simply tightened his lock.

"You're a goddamn evil bastard, Grisby."

"Funny, that. You never seemed to think so until she showed up."

"I guess I should thank her for that."

Despite the circumstances, Joe managed to form a small, spiteful smile. Grisby snarled.

"There's something you need to learn, kid. The two of you are not meant to work out. It's just fucking _wrong_. If you ain't gonna learn that yourself, then I have ways to make sure you do. You saw one of 'em tonight. For everyone's sake, you'd better not make me show you any more."

The stained wood of the counter felt cold against Joe's face. He hadn't cried since he was a child, but he suddenly realized he was about to.

"She doesn't belong here, Grisby. You know that."

"So what do I do? Throw her onto the street? Let her work her little magic on every cock-brained man she meets? That ain't gonna fly, kid. That ain't gonna happen."

"Please, Grisby. I'll get the money. Just let her go."

"You're pathetic," Grisby leered.

Joe closed his eyes. He was.

Grisby lifted Joe off the counter. He started walking towards the doors, holding Joe in front of him.

"Y'know what?" he snorted. "I think I've heard enough. Any more of this romantic lovey-dovey shit and I'm gonna puke."

The glass doors slid open. With a tremendous heave, Grisby threw Joe out of the lobby. He tumbled down the stone steps and fell hard on the asphalt of the carpark, rolling over and wincing in pain. The receptionist scowled threateningly at him from the top of the stairs.

"Don't you dare come back and ask to see her, Joe. If you do, I throw you out and pay the whore another little visit. She wouldn't like that, methinks. And I don't think you would either."

Joe groaned weakly. Grisby sneered once more, then threw a small envelope at him.

"Come back when there's five million in there," he said mockingly. Then he strode back into the lobby and slammed the metal grille down behind him, locking Joe out.

Groaning again, Joe slowly lifted himself onto his feet. As he walked slowly to his car, he looked up despairingly at Kira's window, up on the third floor. The curtains were closed, but when he squinted he could still see orange light filtering through them, and they still flapped slightly, almost like a pair of trembling hands had drawn them shut not two seconds ago.


	5. Chapter 5

**Kira**

**Chapter 5**

It was almost midnight when the doors to the motel slid open one last time. Grisby looked up in surprise. Joe was standing in the doorway, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his eyes red and hair disheveled.

"You never fucking give up, do you?"

Joe ignored him. "Am I allowed to come in?"

"Depends on who you're here to see."

Joe inhaled.

"It's not her this time."

Grisby smirked. He gestured towards the old bar stool before the counter.

"Sit down."

Joe walked slowly over, hunching slightly. When he sat down he dropped the bag on the floor beside him.

"I don't s'pose there's five million in there."

He shook his head, but didn't speak.

"What you here for, then? You're not here for a one-night romp, are you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"For starters, you look like crap."

It was a valid remark. Joe knew that he looked incredibly tired, mostly because he was incredibly tired. Since Grisby had thrown him unceremoniously out of the motel the previous night, he hadn't slept a wink.

"Actually, I came here to talk to you."

"I ain't a talker, Joe."

"I wanted to apologise."

Joe saw that his simple comment had visibly astonished Grisby. The big man drew back from the counter, exhaling deeply.

"You shitting me, Joe?"

"No."

"Explain."

"Well, after you threw me out last night, I went home and had a good long think. About what had happened to me. Then I realized you were right. She's changed me, Grisby; made me all soppy and lovey-dovey and stuff. I don't like being that way, man. I can't even believe it had taken me so long to see it."

Grisby nodded slowly. "You realized I was right."

"Ex-actly. I mean, I've known you what, five, six years now? That's a long time! All of a sudden then this chick comes along, and in a couple of weeks she's got me shouting at you every time we meet! That's not right, man. I mean, bros before hoes, right?"

As if to drive home his point, Joe chuckled weakly. Grisby laughed along.

"Sounds like you've got your head back in the right place," the big receptionist finally commented, clearly relieved.

"Yeah. I have."

"I guess I should apologise too. I figure I could've been a bit nicer about the whole thing. Y'know, less cursing. Less throwing you around."

"Nah, don't sweat it. I wouldn't hold it against you. You did what you had to to, well, wake me up. I should thank you for it."

Grisby smiled. For the first time in weeks, he actually seemed genuinely warm.

"I must say, kid, I like this change in you. More sensible. But come on, don't look so down. Never too late to right a wrong, y'know."

"Yep. Never."

"So, who'll it be tonight?"

"Depends. What's on the menu?"

Joe's use of their old shared lingo brought out a cheerful chortle from Grisby. He started digging around in his jeans pocket. After a brief interlude the big man brandished a small sheet of folded paper.

"Here we go!" he exclaimed. Then he started reading names of it, squinting slightly at the messy handwriting scrawled all over its surface. "Let's see. That Mightyena's on the second floor, right by the stairca-"

"Say, Grisby," started Joe, cutting him off, "You got a beer lying around somewhere? I figure I could use one."

"Sure thing. Loyal customer privilege, after all."

Grisby bent over, dropping the sheet of paper on the counter in front of Joe as he rummaged through the mess in the compartments under the counter. Joe took a quick peek at it, scanning the table for her name. Then he reached into his own pocket and pulled out the small glass syringe he had carefully hidden within.

…

As he had expected, she had been moved to another room, probably in case he decided to try and enter through the window. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption, really, since he had, in fact, considered doing so with a few coils of rope he had lying around his home. But that was another matter.

The new room was just as sparsely furnished as the old one, consisting simply of a bed (for obvious reasons), an empty mantelpiece, and her. But for some reason, it seemed much smaller – more lifeless, probably, without the warm orange glow that characterized the other one.

The morph was sitting silently on the bed, back to the door, very much like she had been the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Her head rapidly spun around when she heard the door open, and her face, wet with tears, lit up with delight when she saw him in the doorway.

"Joseph!" she cried. In a heartbeat, she was in his arms. Then she looked at him, concerned.

"You look tired."

He nodded. "I didn't sleep last night. Too busy planning."

She raised an eyebrow. "Planning?"

"Your escape. Our escape. I'm getting you out of here."

There was silence as she stared at him, eyes wide. Then she took a stumbled step backward, wringing her hands together. He swung the backpack forward and unzipped it.

"I brought clothes," he started, looking through the contents of the bag. "If you dress up, we may be able to pass you off as a regular tourist or something. I borrowed some money, and packed food just in case. With a bit of luck, we should be able to make it out of the city. I also booked a flight off the continent, where the operation can't find us. It departs at-"

"Escape?"

He looked at her in surprise.

"Of course! You hate this place, right? Don't you want to be free?"

"Yes. But it is not possible! Grisby, the collar-"

"I took care of them."

Her expression rapidly morphed into one of incredulousness. "How?"

"Grisby? Simple. Syringe. Mild animal tranquilizer. He wouldn't wake up for another three hours. We would be long gone by then. And as for that collar..."

He walked over to the bed, sitting down beside her. Then he reached into the bag, dramatically pulling out a set of rather ordinary looking keys.

"He doesn't do a very good job of hiding them," he smirked. "They were in his pocket. I've freed all the other girls in the building. You're the last one."

She gasped.

"Hold still," he told her.

She craned her heck upwards, revealing the despised ring of metal around her neck. He carefully felt around it, searching for the keyhole, and when he did he slid the key in. She held her breath. He smiled at her reaction, then with a simple, rather anti-climatic click, he turned the lock.

The collar opened silently, and with a loud clank fell onto the ground. They both watched it fall.

She looked up at him. He smiled at her. The blackened, scorched fur ringing her graceful neck was still clearly visible, but for the first time, that was all that marred her beautiful form.

"I am free," she said simply.

He nodded, grinning widely. Her expression still blank, she bent over and picked up the opened collar.

"Enough gawking," he chided her, quickly getting up and grabbing the backpack off the floor. "We have to go now. We're wasting time as is."

She ignored him, carefully balancing the collar on both of her palms. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her hands immediately burst into flames, enveloping the ring of metal in a luminous inferno. The entire room shone yellow. Within seconds, the collar was no more than a lump of steaming, molten scrap lying on the floor.

He stared at her, his mouth agape. She got up and turned to face him. The tears were gone from her face, and her crimson eyes looked different, but he couldn't quite place how. Her tails flared out behind her, and despite being larger than her in size he suddenly felt very, very small.

"Joseph," she said simply. Her voice too, sounded different. More powerful, more… alluring.

She stepped forward. Her body suddenly shone with a vivid orange glow, like it had barely a week ago, only stronger. Far stronger. He instinctively stepped back, away from the strange new creature before him.

"You look different," he said dumbly.

"I feel better," she replied. Her muzzle split in an uncharacteristically wild grin, showing her teeth, and her eyes became wide.

She reached out a hand to him, placing it on his chest. The orange aura surrounding her flowed like quicksilver onto him, engulfing him the same way it did her.

"What did you do?" he demanded, his voice panicky.

She raised a finger to his lips.

"Wait."

And so he did. The aura around him grew stronger, and as it did, he realized, so did he. He felt warm, powerful… invigorated. The tiredness rapidly disappeared from his muscles, as though it had never affected him in the first place. He looked at her in wonder. She smiled slyly back at him.

"How much time do we have?" she asked.

"About three hours or so."

She leaned forward, pecking him lightly on the cheek. Then she drew mischievously back, batting her eyelashes.

"That is a lot of time. I figure I can afford to give you a proper show of appreciation before we leave."

He narrowed his eyes, grinning back at her. His arm snaked down her back, squeezing her bare backside. A small, delighted squeal escaped her lips.

"Here?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You know where."

Then she was off towards the door, her nine long tails stroking him one by one as she left. He took a second to catch his breath, then chased after her, dropping the bag carelessly on the floor behind him.

…

The old room was almost completely dark when they entered it. The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and someone had extinguished the two remaining candles on the mantelpiece. He felt around the wall for the switch, but she stopped him.

"We will not need it," she said.

She turned to face the rough silhouette of the mantelpiece. With a flick of her hand, the two candles burst into glorious flame, filling the room with their welcoming ginger glow.

The room was still rather dim, but it was bright enough for the two to make their way to the bed. They promptly collapsed on it, her on top of him, and started kissing and groping each other roughly, passionately in the dim candlelight. The orange auras that hovered around each of their bodies fused together, but naturally, they barely even noticed.

Eventually he pushed her away, gasping for air. "You ready?" he asked.

She nodded. He started to reach for his belt, but she moved her hand to stop him. Her response to his confused glance was a simple sly grin, and she took over, fiddling with the buckle with her delicate fingers. When his pants were around his ankles, she grabbed them, threw them off the bed, and lowered her head.

Her muzzle was impossibly warm, and her tongue had a very _appealing_ texture to it that made the whole affair all the more enjoyable for him. He bit his lip, wrenched up his face and held back as long as he could, but a simple glance upwards from her crimson eyes almost threatened to completely undo his willpower in an instant. He half-considered warning her, until he realized that doing so would probably make her stop. As it turned out, she suddenly did that on her own.

"Why?" he almost screamed.

"Your turn," she drawled, licking her lips impishly. "Delicious," she then added, grinning.

She slid forward over him, kissing him deeply as she did so. When his lips reluctantly left hers, he brought his mouth to her big breasts, licking and suckling them lightly, then upwards, stopping at the ring of singed fur around her throat. As he buried his face in her neck, he brought a hand to the small of her back and the other to her damp crotch, making her squeal loudly in delight. He pulled her closer to him. The warmth of her body and the sensation of her unbelievably lush fur caressing his skin felt nothing short of heavenly, and if it wasn't for his tremendous arousal he probably would have simply closed his eyes and dozed off, right then and there.

"I am ready," she finally gasped.

He rolled away, placing his hands around her slender waist, and gently lowered her back-first onto the bed. She stared seductively up at him as he moved into position above her, and the sight of her, with her half-closed, lustful eyes and slightly opened mouth, aroused him so much that it almost hurt. He kissed her again. Her arms linked together behind his head, and his tongue met hers. Her breath was thick with that wonderful musky aroma, and another scent he recognized instantly as his own.

"Do you love me?" she suddenly asked.

"Yes," he said.

She was wonderfully tight when he entered her, and wet from her obvious arousal. She yelped in pleasure as he led her on, faster and faster, her hair scattering across the mattress and her tails seeming to take on a life of their own, dancing frenetically around their joined forms. Finally he looped his hands under her back and, with a final thrust, climaxed, right at the exact moment that she did. They both screamed together, and he stayed within her, hugging her tightly, until long after the final waves of pleasure had died gently away.

It had been the best he'd ever had. He told her. She smiled in response, rolling over him and resting her head against his chest. He smiled too, gently toying with her long, silver locks.

For a while, a mutual pensive silence fell between the two. Then all of a sudden, she looked sad again, like when he'd first seen her that day.

"Kira?" he asked, concerned. "You okay?"

She tilted her head up to face him, the orange glow around her slowly ebbing away.

"You said you love me."

He nodded. He would have spoken to reassure her, but for some reason he suddenly felt very, very tired.

She crawled up to him, holding her head over his. Her gorgeous crimson eyes stared straight into his for a moment, then she put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him deeply.

He barely felt the touch of her lips. He was incredibly exhausted, and it was a struggle for him just to stay awake. She pulled her mouth away from his, giving him a final, affectionate lick on the nose.

"If you love me," she said sorrowfully, "End this."

And the sight of her face was the last thing he saw before the world around him spiraled away.

…

Joe sat quietly, keeping his hands folded on his lap. The interrogation room he was in was a cold, impersonal gray, as was the veteran officer seated across the table from him. His tired eyes scanned the room for a while before he squeezed them shut, trying to think.

He remembered little that had happened after his final night with Kira. He had somehow passed out, and when he'd awoken he'd been lying in the carpark as the entire motel burned behind him. There'd been an ambulance and a few fire trucks, and probably a police car or two, which would explain how he'd ended up being taken into custody right after the medics had cleared him. Next thing he knew, he was in the station, unsure exactly of how he'd wound up there.

The officer across the table watched him intently, his small, hardened eyes narrowed like a hawk. Then he picked up the notebook before him, thumbing through its pages.

"Joseph, right? Can I just call you Joe?"

Joe nodded.

"You do know why you're here, don't you?"

Joe shook his head.

The officer sighed. He dropped the notebook and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

"We brought you in as a possible suspect in our arson investigation, but I'm sure we both know that's not the actual reason you're here."

Joe looked up at the officer.

"Then what is it?"

"We've been tracking activities in that motel for quite a while. After all the rumours circulating the police force was, naturally, suspicious of the sort of dealings it engaged in. We've had patrols passing by the area every now and then, and judging by your frequent visits we assumed that you are intimately aware of… whatever it is that goes on in there. But since we never had evidence, we weren't actually allowed to bring you in, or even to go in and investigate."

"The fire," Joe muttered absentmindedly.

"Yep, the fire. After the blaze was under control we managed to sneak in and do a little search of the place. Found some rather telling pieces of evidence lying around – enough to justify asking you a question or two, at least."

The officer lifted a ziploc bag onto the table and slid it over to Joe. Inside it sat a ring of metal, slightly charred but otherwise intact. A collar.

"I don't suppose you could tell us what this is?"

"It's a collar."

"Elaborate."

Joe smirked weakly, defiantly. "And what if I don't?"

The officer frowned deeply, his bushy eyebrows sloping into a pronounced V. Joe could almost see the beads of sweat growing on his wrinkled brow.

"It doesn't matter, kid. We have many other leads on this case. Best you just come out and help us now, or we could have you locked up a long time once we get more evidence together."

The officer was lying, and Joe knew it. The motel didn't keep pictures or records of its unholy trade, so it was highly unlikely that the police even knew what they were trying to bring down. Besides, the operation covered its tracks well, and what could a simple collar of uncertain purpose do to him in court? Like the officer had said, they needed more evidence, which they wouldn't get without his help. If he invoked his right to shut up, they would never be able to build a case. He would walk free.

That was provided, of course, that Grisby didn't speak either.

Wait a second.

"Hey, officer."

"What?"

"Did you guys get anyone else out of the fire? Namely, one big guy, about 7 feet tall?"

The officer shook his head. Joe's heart sank like a stone.

"Yeah, we found him. Too late, though."

"Was he… burned, or anything?" Joe whimpered. "Like, set on fire?"

"Nah. It was just the smoke. He'd probably dozed off or something before the fire started. Wouldn't have smelled the fumes till it was too late."

Joe bit his lip and tried not to let his guilt show. Grisby hadn't just dozed off – not that he would ever tell them that. But at least that meant Kira hadn't done anything worse to him than he had.

The officer saw the pain in Joe's face.

"Look, kid," he said gruffly. "I'm sorry for your loss. You knew him?"

"Yeah," Joe replied, his voice wavering. "Good friend. Taught me a lot of things. Probably should have listened to him more, too."

The officer sighed, then flipped to a clean page on his notebook.

"I know this is hard for you, Joe, but we still expect your assistance in this investigation."

Joe bit his lip. Despite his sudden shock at Grisby's death – by his hand, no less – he still had to keep his head as clear as he could. If he shut up, he would go free.

So why did he, for no logical reason, feel such an urge to talk?

Was he guilty for his sinful ways? No. Did he want to clear his conscience, especially after Grisby's death? Maybe.

Easy, he suddenly realized. Because she had asked him to.

He could remember the exact words she had spoken.

_If you love me, end this._

"Joe?"

It didn't make sense. After all, she _had_ tricked him. She had played him all along. She'd left him, abandoned him, thrown his fantasies of the future they could have shared into the dust and mud along the gravel trail she now (probably) walked. She didn't love him.

Or did she?

Did it matter?

After all, he'd loved her. That he was sure of.

He'd loved her beauty, but there was definitely more to it than just looks. It was her spirit he'd fallen in love with, he realized. Though she'd never spoken directly to him of it, she'd always wanted to be free, unburdened, like a Rapidash running the endless plains. He would witness that naked desire in her eyes as she beheld her precious fire, and in her voice as she spoke of her days on the road, both with and without her trainer at her side. She'd always wanted to be free. It had always been her ultimate goal, the purpose that carried her through her days of squalid captivity. And for some strange, bizarre reason, if she'd agreed obediently to join him and run away, he doubted he would have loved her as much as he did.

Maybe, he mused, she did love him. But it never had been about them, after all. It had been about a goal far more tangible, far more precious to her irrepressibly wild instincts than love.

Freedom.

Freedom from captivity. Freedom from expectations. Freedom from the ties that bound, regardless of origin or nature.

Then, of course, there'd been the sex. He'd loved that, too, and why would that be any less important? Ultimately, at the end of the story, she was nothing more than a cheap whore. A sneaky, manipulative bitch. From the time he'd met her, to the moment she'd abandoned him at the motel, that was all she had been.

A sneaky, manipulative bitch.

A smile came to his face, but it wasn't one of spite. He would miss her.

"Come on, kid. Speak."

Joe nodded slowly. Suddenly, he didn't quite feel so down.

"No problem, officer," he started. "But promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

"When I tell you my story, firstly, believe every word I say. And secondly, don't judge me for what I did. I had my reasons. And so did Kira," he added softly.

The officer raised a bushy, gray eyebrow.

"Kira?"

Joe smiled, then turned his gaze skywards.

"Short for Yakira," he remembered out loud. "A Hebrew name. It means 'precious'. And I did think so."

...

**And that, ladies and gentlemen, marks the end of the story! I actually toyed with a lot of other possible endings involving other combinations of deaths of the three main characters in each others' hands, but ultimately I felt this was the one that most accurately represented their personalities - and the growth they went through over the course of the plot.**

**I'd also planned to tack on an epilogue featuring Kira and her final thoughts as she left Joe behind, but decided not to, obviously. I mean, why try to fully understand her reasoning? ****She's always been a strange character throughout the story. **** Hell, I'm not even sure if she loved the man or not. You guys come up with your own ideas as to why she did what she did. This ending simply reflects mine.**

**Also, this final chapter is actually the first time in the entire story I used the word 'sex'. It wasn't easy keeping away from that vile word, frankly. :P**

**Over and out,**

**hysyu**


End file.
